


The Catching

by VivaRocksteady



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, BDSM, Bondage, Collars, Gags, M/M, Marriage, Spanking, bdsm verse, but as an au it's super fun, fake non-con, potato sack, this would be horrifying in real life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-22
Updated: 2012-05-22
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:57:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivaRocksteady/pseuds/VivaRocksteady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The very romantic story of how McCoy "proposed" to Kirk, and their subsequent collaring ceremony. (BDSM verse! That is, a world where dominant/submissive was the main social segregator, not gender, and where rather hardcore acts of BDSM are totally normal.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Catching

If there was a way to describe James T Kirk, “old-fashioned” probably wasn't it. Given his reputation, most people wouldn't peg Kirk for the type to settle down. And they certainly wouldn't peg him as the type to enjoy a traditional catching or wedding.

Jim was the first openly submissive person to become captain of a starship in Starfleet history. There were many detractors who raised their eyebrows at his position, with contradictory stances on the matter: some insisted he should get collared, lest the pressure of captaincy prove to be too much, others thought a collared submissive wouldn't be able to devote himself to the duties of the post. And still others – too many others – thought a submissive was unfit for captaincy in any form.

McCoy stood outside Jim's cabin doors, musing on what the next few hours would mean for Jim, for himself, and for the _Enterprise_. He knew he was stalling. He glanced over at Commander Spock, who stood to his right just next to the door. Spock raised an eyebrow very slightly at him and McCoy scowled. Next to Spock was the security guard who was always posted to the captain's rooms, who knew what McCoy was planning and not to interfere.

In McCoy's hands was a burlap sack, taken from the mess, a relic of their last shipment of fresh food from a Starbase. There were still a few potato skin bits inside, and the sack smelled musky and real, the fabric was rough and itchy. A sack was part of the original Western catching tradition, going back hundreds of years to the bad old days before consent mattered. McCoy felt a little silly holding it.

Before Spock could say anything – and McCoy could tell he was itching to – McCoy keyed in his Chief Medical Officer override codes and the doors slid open. McCoy burst in without a word.

Jim poked his head out of his bathroom, curiously, a toothbrush stuck in his mouth. He saw McCoy advancing on him, burlap sack open between his hands. It took a split second for Jim to figure out what was going on. He smiled briefly around his toothbrush, but just as quickly, tossed his toothbrush to the side and dodged past McCoy, almost knocking the other man over. He dashed for the door, which was already sliding closed – and even if he could undo McCoy's override, he would just find Spock on the other side, ready to push him back into the room and into McCoy's sack.

“Dammit!” McCoy grumbled as he regained his balance and turned on Jim. The kid was scrabbling at his lock, ready to dash out into the corridor wearing nothing but his pyjama bottoms. “Give it up, boy,” McCoy said, stepping forward again. “Just come quietly. Don't make a fool of yourself.”

McCoy was expecting a lot of things. He was expecting Jim to try to run – that was standard. He was expecting Jim to put up a bit of a struggle and a fight, that was just Jim's way. He wasn't completely expecting Jim to smirk and spit out “fuck you, old man,” and then _dive under the bed._

McCoy shook his head. Much as everyone thought Jim was the type to never settle, McCoy knew that deep down was a boy who had planned his dream catching at the age of six, a boy who had been waiting for the right person to come along and tame him.

Ugh, it was just so _sappy_. With Jocelyn it was much easier, and much more average. He had come to her work in the middle of the day with a length of silky rope, something easily escapable. He had walked up behind her and gently pulled his rope around her, not even giving her a chance to run. She had beamed and laughed and everyone in her office cheered. Then, like normal people, they planned their wedding for months before having the ceremony.

McCoy had given Jim his collar a year ago. He had simply put it on him one night, and Jim had smiled up at him, but if McCoy ever tried to talk to the kid about anything – heaven forfend. The last thing Jim needed was somebody asking what he wanted. Because apparently, what he wanted, was this.

McCoy stomped over to the bed. “Get out,” he said, simply.

“No.”

“You better get out from under that bed by the count of three if you know what's good for you.”

No response, not even a laugh. McCoy counted to three aloud, then he knelt down to see what he was dealing with. Jim was pressed up against the back wall, coiled up like a cat. He had a scowl on his face, but a happy glint in his bright blue eyes. That was, perhaps, the most infuriating thing.

McCoy sucked in a breath and reached under the bed. Jim almost got away from him, but McCoy grabbed his ankle and dragged him out from under the bed roughly, ignoring Jim's shout of “nooo!”

He dragged Jim out to the middle of the room, and tried to maneuver the sack over Jim's head – when Jim pushed his weight onto his forearms and threw his ankle back, kicking McCoy in the face.

“Fucking Christ!” McCoy dropped the sack and held his face – his nose was probably _broken_ , dammit. Jim took this opportunity to slip out from under him, stealing the burlap sack. McCoy saw him head for the bathroom, and threw caution to the wind. He had been trying to avoid hurting Jim before, but dammit, the kid had _kicked him in the face_.

He bolted after Jim and tackled him to the ground. “You little brat!” McCoy snarled.

“Fuck off!” Jim replied, trying to scramble out from under McCoy. McCoy slapped him, hard, across the thigh, and Jim wriggled around in his grasp. He was on his back on the floor, McCoy on top of him. “Get off me you bastard!” Jim cried, and as he couldn't raise his arms enough to strike McCoy's face, he dragged his nails down McCoy's forearms. Then he squeezed out from under McCoy, even as McCoy ripped his pyjama bottoms off him, leaving Jim completely naked.

The fight continued like this for several, painful minutes for McCoy. He was too old for this, really, and he knew his back would be aching in the morning. He would catch Jim in his arms – or Jim would let him catch him – and then Jim would kick at him, punch, scratch, bite, and just launch himself anywhere else in the room. Jim got his fair share of injuries too, running into walls and knocking over furniture. McCoy wasn't particularly inclined to be sympathetic.

The room was completely trashed. McCoy had stolen back the burlap sack, which was now damp with sweat, and Jim glared at him from behind a fortress of overturned furniture he had set up for himself in a corner of the room.

McCoy looked down at his arms, which had numerous little scratches and bites, and knew his face probably didn't look any better. For one moment he briefly considered asking Spock to come in and help. It wouldn't be completely unheard of – traditionally, the submissive had their friends and family stave off the kidnapping dominant, while the dominant was likewise aided. The idea of asking _Spock_ for help was a little emasculating for McCoy, however. He looked over at Jim's glare and knew Jim wanted him to do this on his own, too.

He took a few more deep breaths, and then pulled himself up to his full height. Jim was hiding behind two armchairs he had tipped over. McCoy picked his way across debris, and found Jim's desk, which he dragged over and turned on its side. Jim watched him with big eyes as he blocked off exit from one side of the corner, and then stepped over the armchair on the other side, trapping Jim in his own protective nest.

“Dammit!” Jim cursed, and he leapt up to try to get across both the armchair and the desk. He was naked, and bruised, and sweaty, but also erect and leaking – of course. McCoy grabbed Jim and slammed him into the wall, twisting his arm behind his back.

“I am sick of playing around, boy,” McCoy growled. He threw the burlap sack over Jim's head, and kept Jim pinned to the wall with his shoulder as he pulled it down over him. Jim screamed and sobbed and carried on and McCoy didn't rise to the bait, pushing Jim to the floor and closing the sack. The clasp snapped shut – it was a vacuum clasp that would only open when McCoy pressed his fingerprint into the reader, or if a ship-wide emergency alarm went off. Jim could pull at it all he wanted, it wasn't going to come undone, and that burlap – while breathable, it was designed to transport food through deep space in cold airlocks – was not going to rip.

McCoy pushed some of the furniture, and the other fallout of their fight, to clear a path to the door. Then, knowing his back would _really_ be angry with him in the morning, he hoisted the sack over his shoulder with a quiet groan.

This set Jim off again. Curled up in the sack, flush against McCoy's back, he started scrabbling and fighting and mewling like a caged cat. “Bones you asshole, you better let me out!” etc etc.

McCoy rolled his eyes and went out into the corridor. Spock raised his eyebrow in a somewhat congratulatory expression. “I see you have been successful in your hunt, doctor,” he said. “Do you require assistance taking your catch to the meditation room?”

“ _No,_ ” McCoy grumbled, even though he probably could use the help. It was only a short walk to the interfaith chapel/meditation room, however, and even with Jim shuffling and kicking and carrying on in that sack, he was sure he could make it with his dignity intact.

Spock followed him silently. Everybody in the corridors knew exactly what was going on when they saw McCoy, and his bruised face and bleeding arms, carrying a burlap sack that shifted and shouted in Jim's voice. They smiled at McCoy, or saluted, some shaking their heads fondly and saying “It's about time, sir.” The opinion on a submissive's right to be captain – especially a submissive as impulsive and wildcard as James T Kirk – was so polarizing that there was virtually no one on Kirk's ship that didn't think he should be there, and didn't think he had the right to be collared like everyone else.

Engineer Scott came around a corner, and beamed when he saw McCoy with the sack. He reached out a hand and McCoy took it, struggling to keep all of Jim's not inconsiderable weight aloft with one arm.

Scott shook his hand vigorously. “Congratulations, doctor,” he said, loud enough that Jim would hear. “That boy needed to be caught, it was plain for everyone to see.”

McCoy smiled, despite the bruises on his face, when the sack on his back made a frustrated _nnaauuguhh!_ sound. “Thanks much, Mister Scott. I'm sure there will be a party in a few days, and we'd love to see you there.”

Scott smiled and walked off, giving the sack an affectionate pat. McCoy shook his head, but his smile soon turned to eye rolling when he realized Jim was frantically masturbating inside the sack. “Nngg, aaah,” Jim was trying to keep quiet as he came, rutting against McCoy's back.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” McCoy uttered as they turned a corner and came to the entrance of the interfaith chapel. Spock gave him a nod and went in, while McCoy took his sack into the small prep room to the side.

The small room had McCoy's dress uniform hanging on a rack on the far side, a sonic shower, a sink, some chairs, and some drinks and snacks set out. A door connected it directly to the chapel. When the main doors slid shut and they had some privacy, McCoy dumped his sack on the ground. Jim let out an “oof!”, and McCoy pinned him down to the floor with a knee, while he grabbed his nearby medical kit and started fixing up the scratches on his arm.

Jim let out little whines, squirming underneath him, still in the sack, but it took McCoy sometime to repair all the damage Jim had done to his arms and face. Soon McCoy realized that Jim was humping the floor, probably scraping himself against the rough burlap, and was coming again, louder this time.

“For the love of...” McCoy muttered. The ceremony hadn't even begun and he was already exhausted. McCoy got up, leaving Jim alone on the floor inside his sack, and poured himself a drink. Then he plopped down into one of the armchairs. He'd have his drink, rest his eyes, and then get on with it. Their friends were waiting in the chapel, but they would understand how hard it was to catch someone like Jim.

McCoy put his feet up on the sack, and not a second later Jim started struggling again.

“Bones, let me out!” Jim cried. “I hate you!”

McCoy sighed a world weary sigh and didn't respond. The sack started to toddle and roll around the room as Jim clawed and kicked at it, shouting various invectives at McCoy all the while. It rolled into a wall once or twice, and after a brief pause, it would start up again. The kid was determined. That was admirable at least.

The sack tumbled into the wall next to the chapel door and collapsed into a quiet heap. McCoy wondered if perhaps this was it.

The chapel door slid open and Ensign Pavel Chekov, wearing his dress uniform, his curls perfectly coiffed as ever with a tiny flower tucked behind his ear, leaned in.

“Are you almost ready, doktor?” he asked softly. He looked down at the sack, rising and falling as Jim heaved his breaths. Jim heard Pavel's voice and the sack started rolling towards the chapel door.

“Don't let him get out,” McCoy said sharply as the sack came towards Pavel's feet.

“What is he doing?” Pavel asked curiously. “Why is he trying to escape?”

McCoy shrugged. “Don't worry about it, it's just his way. We just gotta let him tire himself out.”

“Raaaagh!” Jim cried out in response. He started trying to kick and punch his way out of the sack, ineffective as always. He looked like a bag of brawling stray puppies.

Pavel smiled brightly. “You will have your work cut out for you doktor,” he said.

“Yeah,” McCoy couldn't help but smile, watching the burlap sack contort on the floor. “You tell Spock I'll be in there as fast as I can.”

Pavel nodded. “Take your time, doktor,” he said cheerfully, and disappeared back into the chapel.

Pavel was, in many ways, the complete opposite of Jim. McCoy had been assigned as Pavel's guardian at the Academy by his mother, an admiral, when Pavel came to study at an unusually young age. Pavel never fought against authority, would never dream of defying his dominant the way Jim did on a regular basis, and had his wedding planned out for many years.

McCoy was the only witness when, much to everyone's surprise, Sulu caught Pavel completely unplanned. They had been courting for several months, Sulu keeping his distance under McCoy's watch. Then Sulu was badly injured on an away mission, falling into a coma for weeks, and Pavel was a wreck. As soon as Sulu was awake and strong enough, he took the sheets off the sickbay biobed and wrapped Pavel up in them. He hoisted Pavel in his arms and carried him over to McCoy, who stood on the other side of the room. Over Pavel's delighted and slightly fearful laughs, Sulu whispered “shh, I'm kidnapping you.” Sulu then very politely informed McCoy that he was claiming Pavel, and McCoy gave his approval.

They still hadn't had their ceremony. They were planning something big that both their families could attend.

McCoy, at first, assumed Jim would want something like that, the way most people did – to actually be involved in the process, to decide the date and have more of a chance to say no. As the five-year mission, and their relationship, crept on, it became clear that no matter what he said to the contrary, Jim really did long to give control completely to someone he could trust.

McCoy hadn't been very impressed with Jim when they first met, and was even more unimpressed when Jim started hanging around Pavel at the Academy. When he realized Jim wasn't a dominant trying to fuck with Pavel, he felt a little better, and over the years they slowly bonded, until it started to hurt to see Jim let himself get hurt by his many lovers. Jim spend his first year at the Academy tripping over himself, trying to provoke some man or woman to teach him a lesson. Sometimes it worked too well, and McCoy was left to treat Jim's wounds.

It wasn't until the _Narada_ incident that McCoy acknowledged how he felt, and a lot of that had to do with Pavel's gentle prodding. Pavel was moony-eyed and romantic and would say garbage like “when a submissive is around his true dominant, he _glows_.” But on their first night together, when the _Enterprise_ was limping home, and Jim fell asleep in his arms with a smile on his face, McCoy grudgingly admitted that he could see it. Jim was like a sparkling little diamond, not that McCoy would ever say that to his face.

Their relationship had progressed despite Jim refusing to talk about it or put labels on anything. It had become serious when McCoy slipped a plain black collar on him one night, even more serious when they visited Jocelyn and Joanna on the Starbase where they were living. Jim had been terrified to meet Joanna, as he had never liked any of his mother's boyfriends, and McCoy had to talk him down from a high panic.

Joanna was skeptical of Jim at first – just like McCoy had been – and when Jim suddenly gave her ten credits, she rose a bewildered eyebrow and tersely said “thanks”. Jim was devastated, but McCoy assured him that if Joanna hadn't liked him, she would've said so.  
Now Jim and Joanna were best of friends, sending messages constantly and contributing to each others' bad behaviour.

By now Jim had collapsed in a heap again. McCoy downed his drink and walked over to the sack. He could hear Jim panting and occasionally moaning in defeat.

“You ready to come out yet, boy?” he asked. “If you try to run again, you'll regret it.”

He heard a dismissive “pfft” sound, and rolled his eyes. Jim couldn't even scrounge up a decent insult. McCoy bent and opened the clasp on the sack. He pulled the sack down to look at Jim.

Jim glared up at him, panting. He was bruised all over, his skin scraped slightly by the rough burlap. He was sweaty, and panting, and flushed pink. Two messes of come had spread all around the sack as he tried to escape, and some of it was smeared on him and in his hair. He was glowing, and he looked very, very fuckable.

McCoy glanced up at the chrono. The rest of the wedding party would have been waiting a long time now. He looked back down at Jim and finally thought – _well I can probably squeeze a quick fuck in. He'll be gagged anyway, who's to know?_

“Are you going to submit to me?” he asked, plainly.

“ _No,_ ” Jim spat at him. But he didn't try to run, and he stared up at McCoy defiantly. McCoy watched him for a second. Jim had a safe word, of course, though he had only used it once. McCoy turned him over easily, Jim barely responding, and grabbed some nearby rope to tie Jim's hands behind his back. Then he shoved a ballgag into Jim's mouth.

It wasn't until he was bound and gagged that Jim started struggling again, trying to crawl away. McCoy grabbed him and dragged him over his knee.

“You little brat!” he shouted. “The days of you trying to manipulate me are over, James. You're getting this ceremony whether you like it or not.”

Jim breathed heavily around the gag and groaned as McCoy laid into him, spanking him with his whole strength, bare hand on bare skin. _Smack, smack, smack_ – after a good thirty, very hard spanks, Jim was rubbing his hardness against McCoy's thigh. Before he could come, McCoy dropped him to the floor again. He found some lube in his med kit, dragged Jim to his feet and pushed him over one of the chair backs.

While McCoy's back might be aching in the morning, he certainly still had stamina – something Jim boldly praised him for at any opportunity. Jim might be regretting it now, as McCoy slid his impressive length into Jim with the bare minimum of preparation. Jim moaned around his gag, squirming between McCoy and the chair. McCoy landed another, hard smack on Jim's ass, and thrust into him hard, over and over again. He squeezed Jim's ass tightly, ran his nails up Jim's thighs as the kid clenched around his cock and pressed back against him.

It was McCoy's favourite way to fuck Jim – if the kid was bound he couldn't fight, and if he was gagged he couldn't shout McCoy's ear off. McCoy could just close his eyes and relax and enjoy it. He looked at the squirming man on his cock and smiled, before coming deep inside Jim's ass.

Jim came shortly after, groaning around his gag. After a pause to catch his breath, McCoy stepped back, and let Jim collapse to the floor. He stepped around Jim, and poured himself another drink, glancing at the chrono again. No more time for dallying.

McCoy took a quick sonic shower, splashed his face with water and repaired his last few bruises and scratches. He fixed his hair and changed into his dress uniform. He grabbed a pair of clean white briefs that were folded up near the clothes rack, and pulled them up Jim's sweaty legs.

Then he pulled a boneless, groany Jim to his feet. McCoy took more of the rope and looped it around the kid's neck, and pulled him into the chapel.

The ceremony was very small and simple. If Jim wanted a party for the entire ship later, it would be arranged, but this was just for close friends, where Jim's rank wouldn't matter. As First Officer, Spock was officiating, and they were witnessed by Nurse Chapel, Lieutenant Uhura, Lieutenant Sulu and Pavel.

It was fitting for Spock to officiate the ceremony, not only as First Officer at the Captain's wedding, but also since Jim helped at Spock's own collaring. Since Uhura had no hope of overpowering Spock, and since Vulcans had very different customs to take into account, she had asked to use Jim as a proxy. Spock had returned home one evening to find Uhura whipping a bound Jim, and negotiated for his release, pledging himself to Uhura. It was unconventional, but it fit their relationship.

Uhura and Chapel stood on one side of the room, pretty in their dress uniforms and smiling shrewdly. Sulu and Pavel stood on the other side, Sulu stoic and straight faced, and Pavel beaming with excitement.

Jim was sated, and sleepily followed McCoy to the middle of the chapel. McCoy tugged the rope gently, and Jim fell to his knees, looking exposed and vulnerable in front of all his uniformed friends, naked except for clean white briefs.

Spock nodded at McCoy solemnly, then started the rites. The rambling speech was traditional at most weddings. McCoy glanced down at Jim, who looked up at him with wide blue eyes, and suddenly McCoy found himself unable to look away.

“Do you promise to always care for this man, to keep his health, happiness and well being always in the forefront of your mind?” Spock asked.

“I do,” McCoy said, still looking down at Jim. Jim, so exhausted he could barely stay upright on his knees, smiled at him around his gag, his blue eyes crinkling.

“Do you promise to discipline this man, to always guide him in the right direction with a firm hand?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Do you promise you will always be there to support this man, to never leave him to fend for himself, to always be there when he requires you?”

Jim's eyes widened slightly at the last prompt, and McCoy hesitated slightly. He swallowed a lump in his throat, his chest suddenly a little bit tight. “Of course I do,” he said finally.

There was a small beat where Spock probably nodded once. “Then it is my privilege as First Officer to announce the ownership of James T Kirk by Doctor Leonard McCoy. Do you wish to collar your possession?”

Jim wasn't expecting this, clearly as he had already been wearing McCoy's collar, and he looked up in surprised when McCoy nodded. “Yes.”

Chapel stepped forward, pushing the tears in her eyes back with a broad smile, and held out the collar to McCoy. From a distance, and surely to Jim, it looked exactly the same as the one Jim already wore.

But McCoy knew the leather was superior, that it would be more comfortable. And only he knew that stamped into the leather at the back of the collar, black on black, was the word “james” in a simple type writer type. And next to the word “james”, barely visible, was a single, tiny, glittering diamond. Jim would probably never even see it, but McCoy knew it was there.

McCoy unclasped the old collar Jim wore and slipped on the new one, trying to avoid Jim's piercing blue eyes until he was finished. The women were crying silently, and Pavel was blushing deeply. McCoy leaned forward and kissed Jim on the bridge of the nose.

It was small, simple affair to be sure. Traditionally after the ceremony, the guardians or former lovers of the submissive were informed of the new arrangement. McCoy had given thought to marching Jim around the _Enterprise_ on the end of the rope, finding every yeoman and security guard Jim had played around with and informing them tersely that Jim was now spoken for. He knew Jim would probably like that. But he was so tired, Jim probably more so, and it would take _so long_. Maybe he would make an PA announcement or something later.

So he simply marched Jim back to his quarters. People in the hall once again congratulated him, but McCoy was too beat to stop and chat with any of them.

Once in their quarters, McCoy untied Jim and took out his gag, and led him over to the bed, where he gently helped him settle in. The rest of the room was a bomb site – McCoy retrieved all the bedsheets and blankets from where they had been strewn, but all the broken knick knacks and busted furniture would be a whole day cleanup. He decided he'd get Jim to do it in the morning, since he had caused it all anyway.

McCoy brought over a damp cloth and wiped Jim down. Jim writhed a little on the bed, moaning softly, flexing his arms and neck. “All right, darlin', shh,” McCoy cooed at him.

The kid could barely open his eyes, and sighed blissfully when McCoy draped the bedsheets over him. McCoy got undressed and slipped into bed next to Jim, who immediately snuggled up next to him. McCoy stroked Jim's bruised arms, enjoying the way it made Jim squirm.

“Did you enjoy that?” McCoy asked, with some trepidation. “Is that what you wanted?”

“Mmmhmm,” Jim nodded weakly. “I was wondering when you'd get around to it.”

McCoy huffed a little. “Could've fooled me,” he nuzzled his face into Jim's hair, dropping kisses on him. “You can't get away from me now,” he said. “Now that it's official.”

“It's not official,” Jim yawned. “I don't have a brand on my ass.”

McCoy blinked, and smiled despite himself, shaking his head. “Go to sleep, little diamond,” he whispered very, very softly.

THE END.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://karraparis.livejournal.com/profile)[**karraparis**](http://karraparis.livejournal.com/) who won me in the [](http://help-pakistan.livejournal.com/profile)[**help_pakistan**](http://help-pakistan.livejournal.com/) auction. Special thanks for [](http://viivi.livejournal.com/profile)[**viivi**](http://viivi.livejournal.com/) for helping me brainstorm and come up with the idea.


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